Shadow Choices
by laurose
Summary: Five different romantic pairings for Tatsumi.
1. Watari

Disclaimer: Yami no Matseui is the property of Matsushita Yoko.

Thanks to my beta, Sybil Rowan.

* * *

Watari can handle all tools brilliantly. Including words.

They're his favourite weapons. Not only to hurt, though Tatsumi has good reason to know how sharp and accurate his words can be. He can also mislead. Obfuscation and jargon are skills he never lets fall into disuse.

Tatsumi thinks of words as a sort of currency, and he's never spendthrift.

When they start living together Tatsumi thinks there will be less arguing. He thinks Watari will trust him more.

Watari never distrusted Tatsumi. He continues to use words to get what he wants from his lover.

More words. Mostly from Watari.

Even now, Tatsumi uses the word 'no' often.

And then the flat has no more words in it. No more Watari.

Tatsumi wants that nasal, Kansai-accented voice back. But does Watari want him, if Tatsumi won't do what he says?

They still have to work together. Tatsumi is very conscious of words from other people, whispering. But the words from Watari are the ones which matter.

Watari has always used words well. He used words to mask and hurt, now he uses them to reveal and heal. There is something else new about them, too. His talk has silences in it.

Watari is learning to listen.


	2. Eileen

It was the second time Muraki had killed her.

His bullet in her back killed Tsubake instantly. Her soul fled into death.

But Eileen had only been in the body as a guest. She stood up from the body, but she stayed in the world. To her it was this world which had become the ghost. She couldn't smell the sea, or feel the ship deck beneath her feet. She could barely hear the voices of the outraged shinigami. And she was too insubstantial for these older, stronger ghosts to notice her. One thing stayed clear. Him.

_Muraki_.

Muraki, now denying her very existence to the shinigami. His dark solid in the mists and flickers of this ghost world. The man who'd cut her heart out, with only just enough pain killer to keep it beating as long as needed. She began to move towards him.

Without Tsubake's body, she found it so difficult to walk. She kept trying to dissolve out of this plane. Using the same will that had held her after her first death, she kept herself together, walking step by step toward Muraki.

He left before she arrived, stepping into his helicopter. It vanished into the night sky, a brief grotesque black silhouette that blotted out a few stars.

The other ghosts couldn't follow him either. But Hisoka had wanted revenge. Eileen turned her narrow, wavering focus on Hisoka.

She reached out to him, and his head turned. "Tsubake?" His eyes looked, not quite at her.

Tsuzuki's violet eyes gleamed with something not quite human, and he raised both his hands. Hisoka touched the wrist nearer to him, pressed it down a little. Then he held out his hand to Eileen. She desperately willed hers be something more than a shapeless grasp. She concentrated on remembering each finger. The rest of her dwindled to a breath of cold air, but finally all five fingers twined through Hisoka's.

The ship lurched further sideways.

There was a brief, almost supportive pressure, like the barrier between air and water. Then all of them were standing on green grass, beneath flowering cherry trees. She held Hisoka's hand even tighter.

Tsuzuki said, "Tatsumi?"

From the night surrounding them coiled a tendril of dark like a snake. She dropped Hisoka's hand and jerked away. But too fast for her to avoid, it reached her foot and struck. The dark ran up through her shadow body. Like poison.

One of the young girl shinigamis said, "It _is _Tsubake-chan!"

Like strength. Feeling more solid, almost alive, she glanced down where her arm should be, and saw it sketched in dark mist. She could see through it like smoky glass.

She glanced away, dizzy. She looked back at all the faces watching her, and told them, "Eileen!" She was surer of that than she had been in Tsubake's body.

A tall, handsome woman in black leather asked, "Tatsumi, is she one of your creatures?"

A tall, handsome man in a brown suit said, "Less than she should be. And growing less all the time."

The woman said, "But she still needs your shadows. Will you keep an eye on her until she's stronger?" It wouldn't be long before Eileen learned she was Kazuma Shin, who felt it her duty to guard other women.

Tatsumi nodded. "I'll take care of her."

It would take Eileen far longer to learn Tatsumi started caring for her to help Tsuzuki, wanting to make amends to his ex-partner.

And by then there was a better reason for him to care.


	3. Oriya

Muraki had known his precious toys weren't the ones to take his bait. He'd gone by the time Tatsumi and Watari got there. Mibu Oriya was bending over the bloody corpse, trying to give her some dignity.

Watari sneered. "A bit late, isn't it, for you two to treat her like a human being?"

Oriya straightened and turned towards them. Watari's attention was already on the victim's soul. She should have been able to die, but Muraki had trapped her within the damaged flesh.

Tatsumi knew Watari was better at that sort of thing than he was, and left it to him to soothe the frenzied soul and draw her out. Most of his attention was on alert for Muraki. The madman might decide any shinigami were better than none.

Tatsumi sent shadows through the KoKakuRou. Fast and thorough as they were, there were far too many secret doors and ways for him to map out in this brief time. But some of his attention was on Oriya. Muraki's lackey, and a pimp for his nasty games. Tatsumi wouldn't turn his back on Oriya.

Oriya said with dignity, "This is not my doing."

Watari stood up with the soul weeping in his arms. She'd been very young, Tatsumi saw. Another schoolgirl. It had been impossible to tell from the corpse. Watari glanced at Oriya. "You let this be done to save yourself a few knocks." They vanished.

Tatsumi stayed a little longer. His shadows couldn't learn everything, but he wanted to learn a bit more. Oriya eyed him warily. "It's not so cold blooded, Tatsumi-san."

Tatsumi needed a moment to bring his attention back from the lower cellars. Meanwhile he faced Oriya with no expression at all.

Oriya said hurriedly, "I didn't make the decision, their pain or mine. When we were kids together, I made allowances for Muraki's temper and pride. There were a lot of reason for me to make allowances. We got older. I got used to that fear. It got worse, so gradually I've built my whole life around it.

"One of you called the KoKakuRou mine. It's not. My father left it to me, but it's all Muraki's now. He takes what he wants. The whores used to be the highest class, Japanese girls who'd chosen the profession. They left. We have Third World illegals, now, who can't get away. Even those trees my grandfather planted...Muraki played about with them to ape Meifu's ever-flowering cherry trees."

Tatsumi asked, "Why not just leave?" Then he glanced at the room. Except for the smears and the smell of blood, it was a luxuriously fitted living room with some really impressive antique art.

Oriya frowned at him for it. "How long would I last? If all the powers of JuOhCho can't defeat Muraki - "

Tatsumi frowned back. "Your help has a lot to do with that."

"All I do is help him with human law. He'd find another quick enough if he killed me. And with your lot..." Oriya shook his head. "Killing him didn't stop him. He's a very strong sorcerer. He had spells to restore himself. And, no, I don't know how they work. So goodbye, Tatsumi-san. I don't mean to die a painful death. And it wouldn't even help hell's bureaucrats." When Tatsumi stayed, he set himself.

* * *

Muraki checked the KoKakuRou over before entering. When Oriya came forward to greet him he "They didn't stay long, did they?"

"Long enough. That shadow master got quite threatening."

Muraki smiled. It looked quite pleasant, if you weren't Oriya. "You do know I'm a worse enemy."

"That's what I told him."

Normally, Muraki gave Oriya the courtesy of treating him as the owner of the house. He knew it was important Oriya should feel he'd something to lose. But it had been a long day, and he didn't like thinking of shinigami just then. Avoiding them was taking more time and effort than he liked. He said shortly, "I better take a new room again."

Oriya said rather doubtfully, "We do have a very comfortable one ready. It's sometimes used for vampire games."

Inverted crucifixes, everything black. And pentacles, of course. Muraki checked them and saw they were worthless. He choked on the fug of mixed, old incenses. "Haven't you aired out the place?"

Oriya said defensively, "We did. A lot. But it was so strong before...Another room?"

The wide bed looked very inviting. Muraki sniffed, cautiously, and decided the smell wasn't unpleasant. It seemed to make him even sleepier. "Never mind."

Despite the sleepiness, when Oriya had left him alone he didn't go to bed immediately. He laid out certain precautions, only starting with the sprinkling of salt. He stood a few seconds more, checking the psychic wall he'd raised.

Then he dressed in the white silk pyjamas Oriya kept for him and went to bed.

Perhaps he noticed before he fell asleep, how very cold the silk sheets were. He might have even felt the hair-fine shadows woven into them begin to wrap around him, cocooning him.

And, because he was a very bright man, he might even have guessed this time the shinigami wouldn't let him escape through the gate of death.

And then he began his sleep. A sleep so deep he was on the line between death and life, and unending.

* * *

When Tatsumi arrived at the KoKakuRou, it was far lighter to his shinigami senses. He was surprised to find Oriya packed and walking out the door. He'd left it swinging open. The enclosed, perfumed air of the brothel was being swept out by street smells.

Tatsumi said, "Muraki is secured." Oriya had already asked them not to tell him where. He was sure if any of Muraki's darker allies questioned him, he'd give up everything he knew. "You can stay in your own home."

Oriya said dryly, "I better not. I've tipped off social welfare about all the illegal immigrants here, and I think they'll be here shortly, probably with honest cops."

Tatsumi bowed slightly. "That was one of the bravest things I've ever seen, deceiving a master of lies, considering how he'd have punished you if you'd failed."

Oriya shook his head and crossed the pavement to a dull coloured Toyota. "I'm not brave. I've had that bled out of me over those years. I just needed a reasonable chance to get out."

"You won't be coming back?"

"No. I'll feel safer on the move." Oriya got into the car.

Tatsumi tapped on the window. Oriya opened it. After a moment, Tatsumi cleared his throat and said, "My district is Shigoku. If you moved there, I could keep an eye on you. Guard you, and help you if needed." He didn't sound quite as official as usual.

Oriya was a good looking man, and he'd been raised in a brothel. He didn't twitch an eyelash. "That's another thing Muraki took."

"As a friend, then?"

Oriya said, "I'd like a friend."


	4. Hijiri

The first time was unwelcome to Tatsumi. Tsuzuki, Hisoka and Kazusa were going along to clap their friend's debut at Suntory Hall. Saya and Yuma decided seeing Hisoka and Hijiri together a chance not to be missed. Wakaba went to keep the girls from spoiling the concert. The only time Wakaba managed to quell the Hokkaido twins was by naming them 'stalkers'. It didn't damp them long, but it did damp them. Terazuma went with Wakaba. Tatsumi thought it would be quiet at the office, a good time to catch up on his work.

Konoe asked him to go, to stop Terazuma and Tsuzuki knocking down the concert hall.

A few of the concert goers noticed how thick the shadows were in the great and bright-lit hall, that evening. Most of them were rapt by the music. So was Tatsumi. The music held him like a shadow of light. Golden music, and Hijiri's face set in it like a jewel.

The second time Tatsumi had a hard day, and told himself an evening of good music would strengthen him for the harder one coming tomorrow.

The third time Hijiri was the violinist in a concert of Romantic music of the late nineteenth century. Tatsumi didn't like Romantic, but because he could go, he did. He sat and watched Hijiri, attentive to even the most spineless Tchaikovsky.

It was the fourth time when Hijiri, who could see ghosts better than most people, stopped by a seat in the back which looked empty to others. He asked Tatsumi if something was wrong.

Behind the still face, Tatsumi was flustered. He wanted to say he was keeping an eye on Hijiri on behalf of the Shadow Bureau. But that would imply there was danger. Tatsumi didn't want to distress Huijiri. An innate sense of fairness stopped him from punishing Hijiri for giving him pleasure.

He said, "I like music." Hijiri looked at Tatsumi in his brown office suit, which in a concert hall, looked stuffier and more old fashioned than ever. Tasumi looked back impassively, but nearby shadows rippled. Tatsumi said, "There really is nothing to fear."

Tatsumi knew it was the sixth time when Hijiri stopped to talk with him again. He told himself, it was because he was an accountant he'd kept count.

There was a very thin turn out that evening. Hijiri seemed surprised to see him, and said, "I thought you would be listening to that visiting orchestra, like everyone else."

Tatsumi solidified, for Hijiri would find it embarrassing to be seen talking to an empty seat. He told Hijiri, "I would rather listen to you."

Hijiri's face changed.

Tatsumi had seen him with a couple of girls, but no boys. Remembering the word 'stalker', he told Hijiri, "If this makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop."

Tatsumi wasn't surprised Hijiri backed off, stammering. He was surprised Hijiri didn't ask him to stop watching, only muttered thanks for something.

Perhaps Hijiri felt he'd been ruder than need be. At later performances, he stopped by afterwards to talk a little. He was careful to mention whoever the current girlfriend was, but it was more than Tatsumi had before.

There were times Tatsumi wanted to visit Hijiri at his home. All the time, really. But that use of shinigami powers for personal gratification would be unacceptable. Besides, Tatsumi really, really didn't want to see Hijiri happily at home with a girlfriend. The eleventh time Tatsumi watched Hijiri was the first offstage.

It was still a professional occasion. Japan's brilliant young violinist was taking a world tour (which seemed to be mainly US). It was a happy occasion. Hijiri had a number of good friends who came to cheer him on. There were also a number of hangers-on who thought they might get free drinks.

There were quite a few reporters at the airport. None of them wrote about the thick shadows on the carpet, or those blurring the tarmac of the airfield. For a moment, the big airliner looked black. Several people talked about the dark smog.

Hijiri walked through shadows unhindered. His young, attractive, female p.a. was close by his side, as usual.

* * *

The twelfth time was at Obon. Hijiri was standing by a neglected grave in back country Kyushu. There was no headstone. Tatsumi was the last of his family.

As the sun set, Hijiri lifted his violin and began to play his very best.

The overture was finished. The main work was beginning.


	5. Enma

Tatsumi doesn't know why Enma has chosen him.

Tsuzuki's gorgeous and magnetically attractive. Watari's nearly as beautiful, and his personality warms any room. Also, Meifu has other inhabitants besides the shinigami, many among them better looking and more charming than an accountant in a business suit.

Tatsumi doesn't ask. No one does, with Lord Enma. Not even in the brief period afterward in Enma's cold bed, when Enma looks most nearly human. Tatsumi is glad, even then, that handsome face has no eyes. He wouldn't want to see what was looking at him.

He thinks Enma might see a faint kinship between them. In Enma's position, even the furthest kinship must be something valuable. Enma is a true god. Even the great demons who claim to be his equals will pass away, as their predecessors did, and theirs. Of the true gods, only Enma lives in his dark realm.

Tatsumi hopes it's because he works with shadows. Enma is an immortal. A true immortal, unchanging, and therefore, in a deep sense, not alive at all. To him, all the mortals must seem as brief and insubstantial as shadows.

Tatsumi fears the likeness is the murder which condemned him to this afterlife. The cime, like the punishment, colder than any of the other shinigamis' crimes. A deliberate decision. His mother's life had become an ordeal, and he'd measured and counted all the factors he knew before handing her that glass of water. Enma Daioh practices that sort of accountancy all the time.

Just a little, Tatsumi can understand Enma's weariness from both.

Tatsumi doesn't know why Enma has chosen him.

FIN


End file.
